Dangerous Curves
by Sister Cuervo
Summary: *Now Complete*Book 2 in the casefiles of Alexander Harris, P.I. Xander investigates a blackmailed blonde and Spike checks out a Zombie Master
1. Storm Warning

  
Title: **Dangerous Curves  
**Author: SIster Cuervo  
Rating: R for adult language and themes  
Disclaimers: All characters property of Joss Whedon, ME, et.al. with abject apologies to Dashiell Hammett and Firesign Theatre.  
  
Summary: AU/ BTVS: #2 in the case files of Alexander Harris, Private Investigator. Xander investigates the case of the Blackmailed Blonde, while Spike checks out a Zombie Master. See: #1 Demons Are My Business for the back story.  
  
AN: Picture if you will, a separate reality. A Sunnydale drenched in the lush darkness of Film Noir. A place where an unforgiving universe plays with the innocent and treacherous beauties and inexplicable villainy are the name of the game. Turn the blues down low, and enjoy with an ice-cold gin and tonic, mixed well and served with a twist.  


* * *

Chapter One---Storm Warning  
  
I swam up out of unconsciousness like a patient from anesthesia. The first thing I heard was the hard crack and hiss of heavy storm waves crashing somewhere close by. Even through my swollen eyelids, I could make out massive flashes of lightening out over the ocean. Kettledrums of thunder played a fusillade across the night sky. The air felt charged with electricity. Somewhere out there a sailor was praying for daylight.  
  
I inhaled and coughed experimentally. As I suspected, not only had I gotten a hard knock on the noggin, but someone had given me a couple of sore ribs to go with it. They didn't feel broken, though. I raised my head up out of the sand and discovered my hands were glued down in a a rank puddle of something that smelled of low tide and cat urine. It matched the filthy taste in my mouth. All together, I've woken up from a three-day boozer feeling a helluva lot better than this. I tried to roll over and get up, but my stomach rebelled. There was a whirlybird turning over in there, and my head felt like it'd been kicked by a Georgia mule.  
  
My socks and shoes were soaked through, and my second-best tweed suit was weighted down with sand and sea water. I was cold and miserable, not to mention a bit concerned for my health. There are a lot of hungry things that live around the shorelines. Some of them have extremely sharp teeth and an appetite for human flesh. I only hoped Mrs. Harris' only son wasn't going to be the featured entree on something's menu for tonight.   
  
I gave up thinking about what might happen and just concentrated on getting my hands out of the muck. The sludge was as thick and sticky as ten year old motor oil. My face and fingers felt tingly and a bit numb, like your jaws after a trip to the dentist. I really needed to get myself out of this mess before whatever or whoever left me here came back to finish the job. Or for snacks.  
  
There was no way of telling how long I'd been here or even where here was. One stretch of California beach looks pretty much like the rest. Sand, rocks, waves-- the occasional giant man-eating fish-creature.  
  
My memory was blurred. I knew my name and that I had ten payments left on my old rattletrap of a car. It was how I got myself in this fix that were still fuzzy. I had a vague recollection of seeing fire or maybe smoke. Then, oddly enough, hearing the jingling of sleigh bells, just before I went down for the count.   
  
I had no idea how I ended up here, face down on this beach. Knowing my luck and the fact that this was indeed Sunnydale, there's was bound to be a demon to blame for it. That's the way it usually happens around here.  
  
When did all the weird get started? It's always weird in Sunnydale. It's like the city fathers all got together and hung out a big sign: Welcome to the Boca Del Infierno, Land of the Weird and Home of the Strange.  
  
tbc  
  
AN: Music for this chapter: Stormy Blues--Billie Holliday


	2. Smoke Rings

Chapter Two: Smoke Rings  
  
Monday, 7:14 pm  
  
My name's Alexander Harris. I'm a private investigator. I've got a little office in the bad part of Sunnydale they call Demontown. It's got peeling brownish walls and a bookshelf full of law books rubbing shoulders with Tobin's Spirit Guide and a well-worn copy of Practical Demonology. The rent's pretty cheap and and it's close to all the action. There's plenty of that. Plenty of demons, too.  
  
I've learned a couple of things working in Sunnydale.  
  
One: Demons are nothing but trouble  
Two: Blondes are way more trouble than demons  
and Three: Just when it's looking easy, well, that's when it gets complicated.  
  
It was hot for November, and the wind had picked up around sundown. The sky had been an odd color all day, too. The sort of heavy yellow-gray sky you get before a torrential rain. It was going to be the kind of rain that sweeps the millionaires playhouses down out of the mountain arroyos and drives rats of all kinds up out of the sewers. A tiny sliver of moon peeked around the thunderheads, illuminating the sidewalks and overflowing trash bins outside my window. My beautiful view.  
  
I hadn't bothered to switch on the lights. I could see just fine with the glow from the orange and red neon sign across the street. It said, Lenny's Fine Meats---24 HRS. and featured a dancing pork chop. I had the radio turned on low, listening to some sad-voiced woman moaning out the blues. Yeah, baby, I know how you feel. I didn't really want any customers tonight. I was thinking about everything that'd happened back in August. There was a lot to think about. I couldn't get Anyanka out of my mind. I heard she'd been called back to Arashmahar. I sure hadn't heard from her. I'd left a dozen messages in L.A., made a dozen wishes, but nothing.  
  
I'd occupied myself for the past hour trying to blow a perfect series of smoke rings. Unsuccessfully. The smoke drifted and twisted in the sultry air, swaying and curling in a tantalizing way. If I'd had any imagination, I might have thought it made the the vague outline of a certain voluptuous woman.   
  
A creak from the direction of the office door told me I had company. Very unwanted company. Someone who wanted to be noticed. I'd never have heard him if he hadn't wanted me to.  
I recognized that British growl immediately.  
  
Look what the bat dragged in.  
  
Ta, so very... wanker.  
  
I knew Spike was staring at me from the shadowy doorway, but all I could see was an edge of his bone-white hair. He didn't wait for an invitation, just threw himself down on my sprung-bottom leather couch and slung his legs up sideways. He looked around the darkened room curiously and cocked his head at me.  
What, didn't pay the light bill?  
  
I ignored him and continued my leisurely brood. He wriggled further into his comfy nest. Not going to move anytime soon. He reached over and helped himself to one of my Morley's. Big undead mooch.  
I didn't invite you in.  
  
He exhaled a puff of smoke in my general direction and chuckled. Thought we were bosom chums, Harris. He paused and I heard both feet hit the floor as he leapt up and began to pace restlessly. Er, ah.... got a favor. Favors. For vampires. Never a good idea.  
  
I swung my legs down off the desk and glared across the dim room. The pawn shop's lights flicked on downstairs. The room took on a ghastly hue between the frollicking orange chop across the street and the flickering green neon downstairs. My unwanted guest looked more demonic than usual. I considered and discarded a dozen sarcastic remarks and ended up with, Yeah, what?  
  
I'm bored off my nut, that's what. Slayer's got the club full of prancers redecorating the place. Stinking it up with great masses of paint and what all.  
  
You're looking for a job?  
  
He shrugged nonchalantly, Heard there might be a zombie master raising a little hell hereabouts. Thought you maybe needed a hand.  
  
I frowned at him, I thought I made it clear. I'm through working for demons.  
  
He brushed off that argument, Look, I'd take on this guy for nothing. I hate zombies. Nasty bits of work. Thing is, I'm a bit strapped for the ready.  
  
Thought the Slayer kept you...   
  
I didn't have time to finish the thought. He was over my desk with a furious growl in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Thunder rolled in the distance and the streetlights down on Rosedale flickered.  
She does not keep me. A pair of brilliant lion's eyes were too close to me, and I could feel his smoky breath on my face.   
  
  
  
He backed off immediately and resumed his casual pose. So, what's the going rate for disposing of of this zombie master?  
  
I pulled a blue file folder out of my desk drawer and flipped it open. Western Federated Casualty has red-flagged this whole section of the coast. Missing persons, unexplained deaths, the usual. The claims guy thinks there's a _bokur _ running a resurrection scam with the families for the insurance money. Spike nodded wisely and paced toward the window again. That's the most likely, but there could be something else going on worth looking at. I didn't really give a damn. Just something to get him out of my hair.  
  
Right then, I'll be off. Now, do you want just the guy's head or is there some other special thing you need?  
  
I assured him Western just needed proof of malfeasance, no head-chopping necessary. I handed him a notebook and my handy little Minox camera along with a large black flashlight. He tossed the latter contemptuously on my desk on his way back out the door. Cheers, Harris.  
I swung back around in my chair to look out at the gathering storm. I never wanted another partner after Oz, especially a vampire. I suppose it's the Hellmouth's turn of the karmic pay back wheel.  
  
tbc  
  
AN: Music for this chapter---Smoke Dreams k.d. lang  
Tobin's Spirit Guide--  
all zombie info: The Serpent & the Rainbow author, Wade Davis  
bokur: sorcerer/black magician


	3. Bane

Chapter Three: Bane  
  
Monday, 11: 27 pm  
  
It was getting late. I decided I'd had enough brooding for one night. Plus, I hadn't eaten since breakfast. The Nighthawk Cafe had salisbury steak on Mondays. Top that off with a big slab of cherry pie and the best damn cup of coffee in town and I'd be feeling a helluva lot better. I stretched until my joints snapped and crackled, then stood up for a last leisurely gaze out my window.  
  
The lovely vista of blowing newspapers and overturned trash cans was enlivened by one lone drunk tottering up the sidewalk in the beginning of a misty rain. I wondered just how far he'd come. The nearest bar was Willy's and that was in the other direction. A fat black cat licked it's paws and stared at the guy, then turned and sauntered away down the alley. A bus rolled by, swaying and rolling, empty of passengers at this hour and disappeared in a haze of greasy black diesel smoke.   
  
The drunk flopped down onto the bus bench and stared glassy eyed up at my window. He caught sight of me staring out, and pointed a shaking finger at me. Then he seemed to mouth some words. I figured it for a curse. I ducked.  
  
Being around vengeance demons would make anybody jumpy. I peered back out at the neon-lit bench. The guy looked to be passed out, hanging half on and half off the bench.  
  
Poor slob'll be somethings midnight snack if I don't-- I noticed a red, glistening puddle spreading underneath him and realized he wasn't just an unlucky drunk. I called the ambulance, but I had a bad feeling about this.  
  
By the time I'd gotten downstairs, it was clear to me the guy was going to be D.O.A. The front of his brown wool jacket was soaked through. He looked sort of familiar. He looked up at me, all wide-eyed and blissful. Like he was happy to see me. ....keep... secret... .  
  
... crystallus...vividus...poison, he gasped out. He sounded incoherent and I was just picking out bits and pieced of what he was murmuring. He muttered some stuff about going to see the frogs and fishes, but lapsed into unconsciousness for a while after that. His skin was icy and I've only seen skin that chalky white on the newly dead. I took out my handkerchief and wiped some of the crusted blood from his face. There wasn't any kind of an obvious wound or cut to have produced so much blood. It was like he'd been sliced open inside. I'd never seen any kind of poison that worked like this, and I'd seen a lot of peculiar things when we worked in L.A.  
  
I recognized him finally. He was Larry Torgerson, a football player from my old high school. God, he looked bad. Blood, red arterial blood, dripped from his chin in a steady stream. He must have been bleeding out for a while. What in the name of hell had happened to him and how had he managed to get here? There was a trail of blood leading towards the center of town.   
He blinked his weary eyes and struggled to sit up. I could see his eyelids trembling with tension. He knew he was dying, poor sap. Larry fought to make his lips form a sentence, but the words weren't coming. He scrabbled at his jacket pocket. I reached inside and found a small, cloth covered bundle, just big enough to hold worlds of trouble. He gave me a wide, goofy smile, like he was giving me a blessing. Or a curse. Then he blinked in surprise. The rest of his words were blurred as he belched up a massive gout of blood.  
  
Poor guy. I straightened him out and went back upstairs to call Homicide. The ambulance was definitely going to be too late.  
  
I took Larry's little bundle upstairs and shoved it behind the books, and wrote down everthing I could remember. I didn't have time to fool with whatever was in the package, but Larry had said it was a secret. Evidently one worth walking for miles while you bled to death. I figured I owed him that.  
  
My lucky night. Lieutenant Riley Finn answered the phone. After the usual hassle, he detailed a couple of uniforms to check over the scene and roust out the usual suspects. Great. I just love having a run-in with Lieutenant Finn.  
  
Back when Oz and I were with L.A.P.D.'s so-called Odd Squad, I'd made the trek up the coast to Sunnyhell a few times. I'd been impressed with Finn, then. We'd worked well together and I admired the way he handled himself in the field. He was smart and knew a lot more about the underworld than he let on. He really enjoyed his job and he made plenty of big busts. He was the rising star in the cop shop.   
But then, I noticed a few things that were off. Little things like roughing up the occasional witness and not sticking at bringing his own evidence. He had a big problem with the demon breed, too. He made no secret of his disdain for the Peace Accords. Even the sentient ones were fair game. I called him on a few things and he decided he didn't like my big city attitude or my big mouth. After Oz and I opened the agency here in Sunnydale, he'd made it his job to give me a hard time. Mostly, I tried to stay out of his way. It was healthier that way.  
  
Finn's boys handled the scene casually, asking me the most cursory of questions. Larry was bagged and tagged and on his way to the morgue in less than thirty minutes. Just another routine night on the Hellmouth.  
  
It bothered me , though. I decided I needed another perspective on this business. The best place to start was the Silver Stake.  
  
tbc  
AN: Music: Craig Armstrong


	4. After Midnight

Chapter Four: After Midnight  
  
2 a.m. Tuesday Morning  
  
It was late when I got to the club. There had been massive renovations since the unfortunate exploding gas main that caused the disappearance and presumed death of the owner. His widow, Mrs. Giles, had embarked on a effort to make the new Silver Stake the showplace of the West Coast.   
  
From what I could see beneath the drop cloths and piles of lumber, it was going to be. Massive silver chandeliers, dripping with sparkling crystals, hung from the center of the newly restored ballroom. The stage would be larger than before, with rotating wings and a floating staircase. The dance floor was a jet black lake of polished marble, but the rest of the room was going to be blonde: blonde wood bars and tables, pale gold satin stage curtains and creamy quilted silk wallpaper.   
There was even a cozy little cafe section tucked away in a dim corner with a sleek chrome expresso machine for the bohemian crowd. A leather-clad band of vampire security guys were stationed in the new lobby. They were a perilous looking crew, radiating a familar cocky attitude. The out-of-towners had eaten up the decadence and danger of the old Stake. They'd be back in droves as soon as it opened with this chic new atmosphere.  
  
There were a couple of musicians tuning up on the stage. A gawky looking piano player with waist length snow white hair and a long silvery beard was practicing a soft tune on the baby grand. I wasn't entirely sure if there was a human being under all that hair. Sometimes it's a bit hard to tell. His deep-set eyes glittered in the dim lighting and I stopped to listen to his harsh voice grind out a love song. A hipster wearing a pair of dark glasses laid down a wail on his sax that set the hairs on my neck twitching. Yeah, they probably weren't human. But, by damn, they sure could play the blues.  
  
I finally slipped around a big pile of lumber and down the black painted hallway toward the offices. It was easy to find. A oddly matched pair of bodyguards stood stolidly on either side of the doorway like granite bookends.  
  
I cleared my throat. I need to speak to Mrs. Giles. The tall brunette cracked his lips and bared a set of pointed fangs. The pony-tailed blonde stared blankly into space. Look, I'm a friend of hers. I'm sure one of them growled.  
  
I was revving myself up again, when the office door was snatched open and thrown back against the wall with a tremendous thump. The Slayer seemed surprised to see me standing there.  
  
Mr. Harris. What do you want? Her blonde hair was backlit with a blaze of candlelight, and her arms were akimbo, furious at someone I hoped wasn't me.  
I need your help.  
  
She took a couple of deep breaths and invited me into the office. Spike was right. She had changed things since she'd taken over the business. Oriental carpets lay thick on the polished wooden floors and heavy gold damask draperies shaded the long french windows. Banks of candles flickered around the room and the scent of old roses delicately fragranced the room. All the family portraits had disappeared, except for the silver-framed photograph of her sister that had the place of honor on her desk. In their place were large painted scenes of far-away places. The Alps or maybe it was the Himalayas . A couple of the canals in Venice and Paris in the 1900's. Very expensive and elegant.  
  
she said impatiently.  
  
What can you tell me about mystical poisons?  
  
Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. Not really my field. My... Rupert was the scholar. Rupert Giles, who'd last been seen as the newest pearl on a goddess's necklace. Maybe you should try Spike. He knows more than me about sorcery. Or better yet, Anyanka.  
  
She's not returning my calls. She nodded and gave me a quizzical look. I filled her in briefly on the Larry situation, neglecting to mention the mysterious package and the details of Spike's earlier visit. She wrote down the invocation or curse or whatever it was, but didn't hold out much hope.  
  
If you speak to Spike, give him a message for me. Tell him....tell him I'm not made out of glass.  
  
She turned away and started shuffling some papers on her desk. I decided I'd better do a little research on my own.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Leon Russell ,Lady Blue


	5. Almost Cryptic

Chapter Five Almost Cryptic  
  
10:13 a.m. Tuesday Morning  
  
I staggered into my office late. I'd have to send around the corner for coffee and crullers once I got my eyes open. Surprisingly, there were a half dozen messages on my answering machine. A couple from Spike with some zombie sightings, one from the Daily Chronicle offering me a trial subscription and one from Harmony Kendall. The name sounded familiar. I called down my order for coffee, then I called Miss Kendall back.  
  
Good morning, Mr. Harris. I'm so glad you called. I've heard so many good things about you from friends of my Daddy. Do you suppose you could come out to my place this evening? Her voice was a breathy, little girl's voice, Harm's Way Ranch. I know it's a little out of the way, but I really, really need to see you.   
  
Kendall? Could this be the Kendall of Kendall International, Kendall Pharmaceuticals and Kendall Airlines? Oh yeah, baby, that's some serious money in the bank.  
  
I got the directions. She wasn't kidding about it being a little out of the way. It was out beyond the northern edge of the city, past fifteen miles of twisting coast road. I agreed to meet her at seven, which gave me plenty of time to change into something besides the ratty suit I was standing up in. Maybe I'd try out that new silk tie tonight.  
Also, I'd have time to phone Anyanka again. I really needed to check in with Spike, too, before I took off. He always knew all the inside dope in the demon world. I wondered who'd recommended me to Miss Kendall? It wasn't like I had friends in high places. Not anymore.  


* * *

  
Tuesday 5:30 p.m.  
  
It was barely sunset when Spike flew in the door, a slight smoky haze following him. He shook himself like a wet dog and grinned over at me. Got a hot lead on your Zombie Master. He was so pleased with himself I hated to burst the bubble.  
  
Let that go for a bit. I need you on something else. He gave me a rebellious glare. I'll pay. He looked skeptical, but deigned to listen.   
  
I clued him in on everything I knew about Larry and read him off the poor soul's last words. He dutifully copied them down in the little notebook, then crammed it into his trench coat pocket.  
  
Doesn't sound much like a curse. Just some Latiny mish-mash. Prolly all rubbish, but I can check into some things a bit if you like. Why haven't you tried Anyanka? She's the professional.  
  
Everyone kept bringing her up. Well, she was a thousand-plus years old and definitely knew a thing or two about the mystical world. I just didn't feel like getting into that right now.  
  
She not around. What do you know?  
  
He patted down his duster in the usual routine, looking for the lost pack of smokes he never carried. He finally grabbed my pack off the desk and lit one up.   
  
It's probably nothing, but I seem to vaguely recall a mention of something like this. Just can't seem to put my finger on it right now.  
  
Can you check into it? There's something to this poison. It's messy and it's real. I've seen what it can do to a human being, and it ain't pretty.  
  
Spike said nothing, just chewed the inside of his lip and wandered around the office picking up random objects and setting them down again. Right then, off I go, he muttered. He wasn't making any moves toward the door.  
  
Make yourself at home then, if you want. I've got to go out to Harm's Way Ranch to meet a new client.  
  
I stood up and reached for my trench coat and hat. Spike rounded on me, his blue eyes wide. Harm's Way? Please tell me your client is not Harmony-bloody-Kendall?  
  
I nodded. He clenched his fists and took a quick turn around the room. Oh hell, it only needed that silly bint! He was clearly agitated about something.  
  
What is it? I've got to get going.  
  
I used to know her a while back. Met her in the south of France, down on the Riviera. A wild blonde with a bushel of diamonds and a taste for things that were very, very bad for her. And as it happens, very bad for me, as well. He looked sincere, She's like a loaded gun, Harris---no brains and unpredictable as hell. Be very careful.  
  
I headed out the door, leaving Spike standing there looking lost in thought. I thought he might have something else to add, but he looked down at the floor and said nothing. I stopped at the door and turned back.   
  
  
  
Buffy says to tell you she's not made out of glass.  
  
His mouth opened and he gave me a dazed look. I chuckled to myself. Got him twice in one night.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Almost Gothic Steely Dan


	6. Harm's Way

Chapter Six Harm's Way  
  
Tuesday evening 7 p.m.  
  
The drive was a long one on a cliff road lined with hairpin curves, then another ten miles up and past the arroyos to the other side of the bay. I pulled up to the monogrammed iron gates and the guard box. The guard checked my name on a clipboard and waved me through, but turned to watch me suspiciously.  
  
I was correct. The Kendall name equaled money, and lots of it. Miles of it. I drove slowly through the gates toward the house, passing stables on the right and vineyards on the left. A few white-washed shacks sat out in the fruit orchards and a long, low building hugged the distant hillside. I pulled up on a little rise to look down at the house below.  
  
A low hacienda spread out near the foothills. It must have started out as a Spanish mission. A wide courtyard planted with palms and live oaks was centered by an enormous fountain lavishing sprays of water over a rearing unicorn. Red tile covered the roof of the sprawling rancho and the thick adobe walls had aged to a pale honey tone. Warm yellow lamplight poured from the blue-rimmed windows onto the vine-covered verandah, and in the still night air I could hear a piano playing in the distance.  
  
I parked the DeSoto near the fountain and sauntered up to the front door. The cadaverous looking butler had clearly been expecting me, but he stuck out a long paw for my business card anyway. He squinted at it like he'd never seen one before then turned it over and peered at the back.   
  
Miss Harmony is expecting you, He intoned with all the basso profundo of an undertaker.   
  
He led me deeper into the the hacienda, following the piano. The old wooden floors had been waxed to a deep chocolate brown and scattered with striped Navaho rugs that muffled our footsteps. I could see fireplaces burning in nearly every room in the place, the warm golden light making the vacant rooms seem almost cozy. The butler kept checking to see if I was still behind him. Like I might pick up some loose treasures and pocket them, or maybe he was afraid I'd grab a housemaid along the way.  
  
The Kendall library was overwhelming. Immense bookshelves stacked with leather-bound volumes stretched to the ceiling, and busts of writers and philosophers carved in white marble stood in wall niches. Through the open french doors, I could see a lighted inner courtyard brilliant with geranium and oleander. The remaining wall was covered in a floor-to-ceiling mural of a nymphs and satyrs frolicking amidst a herd of unicorns.   
  
Harmony Kendall was standing in the middle of the room with a drink in her hand, swaying to the music. The cascades of smoothly coifed blonde hair swung around her petulant little face. Her dress was a floaty crepe thing with a pattern of brilliant orange-red poppies, no doubt imported from Paris. A loaded gun, I thought. She blinked at me, then lifted the top of Socrates' head to select some ice with a pair of silver tongs.  
Drinky, Mr. Harris? I nodded and she plucked out some more ice and popped it into a fresh glass. She regarded me owlishly. You're sexy... for a detective.  
  
I hadn't noticed.  
  
You're funny, too. Are all detectives funny? She swayed near me, giving me the full benefit of her million dollar smile. The armload of diamond bracelets caught the light from the fireplace. More ice than Alaska.  
  
Look, you didn't invite me out here to discuss my sense of humor.  
  
She flipped her long blonde hair back , You're right. I don't have anyone I can trust.  
  
Yeah right. Like I could trust her to tell anything like the truth. That's one thing detectives learn early. I could trust her about as far as I could throw her. Spike wasn't kidding about this one.   
I stared at her and said nothing. As I'd hoped, she started talking.  
  
I'm being blackmailed. She posed herself carefully in front of the open French doors, the pale garden lights outlining her figure through the thin fabric.  
  
I took a leisurely sip of my bourbon. Uhm humm.  
  
Didn't you hear me? Blackmail! Harmony batted her mascara caked lashes furiously at me.  
  
How much does he want?  
  
She seemed to think it over for a moment, then, Five thousand dollars.  
  
That's chump change. Pay him.  
  
She was flabbergasted.  
  
Pay him. Of course, I knew once you paid off a blackmailer they'd be back for more. I'm not stupid, but someone seemed to think I was.  
  
I... I can't  
  
Ummm Hummm. I schooled myself to silence and waited her out.  
  
Okay, I'll tell you, she began haltingly. I was at this party. I took something... or maybe somebody slipped me something... there were pictures, he said. He said he'd show them to Daddy. Sure, and her father would raise hell for about five minutes and then cough up a bundle. Or sic his cadre of high-priced legal talent on him. I seriously doubted the picture angle. She was still skirting the truth.  
  
I just stared harder. She was sweating now, trying to come up with a better lie. The glass was slippery in her pink manicured fingers. Mr. Harris, you've just got to find him and get the negative from him. He's always got it with him. She batted her long eyelashes seductively and sidled a little closer. I could smell the sweat and honeysuckle fragrance on her. I'll bet she kept the pool boy hopping. I ignored all that.  
  
Look, Miss Kendall, I'm not going to lose my license over this. I'm sure you think private dicks will stick at nothing, even murder. Maybe that's true about some of them, but not me. I won't rough this guy up for you. You've got two choices. Either tell him to publish and be damned or pay him. That's my advice and I'm sticking with it. So much for that big fat retainer.  
  
She looked at me blearily. Maybe she figured if sex appeal wouldn't work, maybe the old standby would. If it's a question of money... I shook my head no. She pouted a while and fixed herself a third drink. Old Socrates was getting quite a workout. She didn't offer me another round. Could you at least find him for me?  
  
That I can do. Who is this guy?  
  
He was my chauffeur. Devon LaBonte. He's had a little house here on the ranch, but he's gone now. She was whining now, a high nasal sound that grated on my nerves. She shoved a fat handful of bills at me. Find him for me. Please!  
  
Okay, I'll try and persuade him it's in his best interest to give them up. She nodded a dozen times and wobbled back to Socrates. Her hands shook the ice in the glass like a casino gambler. There was definitely something off here. I haven't lived my life on a Hellmouth for nothing. Too many things weren't adding up.  
  
I followed Catherwood out the front door. He was even less communicative than before. He stood in the doorway and watched my DeSoto pull away. He was still standing there staring at my taillights as I rounded the last curve toward the vineyards.  
  
tbc  
Piano music: Little Dancing Girl, Harry Connick Jr. Trio


	7. Crusader

Chapter Seven--- Crusader  
  
Tuesday night, 11:00pm  
  
As I suspected, Buffy's renovated office was now occupied by her favorite vampire. He was standing out on the balcony having a leisurely smoke.  
Just the undead guy I'm looking for. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but didn't deign to reply.  
  
Know anything about a mug named Devon LaBonte? He used to chauffeur Harmony Kendall around.  
  
He sneered at that one. Right. That's what they're calling it these days. Yeah, I know him.  
  
Harmony says he took dirty pictures of her. Blackmail.  
  
He was puzzled. That makes no sense. Why the hell would he bollix up a cush job like that for a measly few bucks.  
  
Five thousand.  
  
Pssht. She kept him quite nicely. She dropped more than that on him in a day at the track.  
  
Yeah, I get the feeling this isn't about blackmail. He's got something she wants and she won't stop at anything to get it back.  
  
Bint. She wanted me to turn her, y'know. he laughed ruefully, Like I could stand eternity with that daft cow.  
  
We sat for a while, thinking hard. Oh, did you hear anything more about the Crystallus' business?  
  
Yeah, I kicked about at Willy's and some other places. I heard some right interesting stuff... What it was, I didn't hear anytime that night.  
  
Your dead ass is dust, boy! Well, damn, that grating voice had to belong to Riley Finn. How the hell did he get in the Stake's inner sanctum, past the vamp bouncers?  
  
Spike didn't turn a platinum hair from his spot near the walnut desk. He lowered his long black eyelashes disdainfully and smirked. Why Lieutenant, I didn't know you cared.  
  
Finn was not amused. He loomed head and shoulders over both of us, the muscles in his hard jaw jumping. I don't like you, bloodsucker. You or your kind. Especially leeches who let dames like this one pay for their withdrawals from the blood bank. Finn's fist were as tight as his jaw muscles.  
  
I should have stayed out of it, but sometimes I'm not the sharpest tack in the box. Lieutenant Finn. What brings you sniffing around this extremely legitimate business? Don't you have some hop-heads to roust?  
  
Harris. I shoulda known you'd be hanging around in Demontown. He paused and looked me over, What happened to you, man? You used to be one of us. He looked over at Spike who was casually finishing off the last of his cigarette. Now I hear you've set yourself up with a soon-to-be dusty pal and a demon slut. I guess you're right at home.  
  
I felt like growling myself. Self-righteous bastard. I hope to god I never sounded like him, but I was afraid to think too hard about that. I might not like the answer.  
  
Spike was still sitting, smoking thoughtfully, as though he hadn't a care in the world. There was a short fuse under all that cool behavior, though. I'd seen it before, even if Finn hadn't.  
  
Got a warrant, Finn? I asked. He looked at me like he smelled something bad.  
  
Buzz off, Harris. Run on along to your little demon, Finn continued to bluster, I'll deal with this _nosferat_ myself.  
  
He turned back and hauled up Spike up by his jacket front. The vampire blew a rank cloud of smoke into Finn's eyes.   
  
Finn lost his mind, then. I'm going to enjoy this.   
  
He swung wide and his fist connected with a meaty thump. A wide thread of blood flew from Spike's mouth and his head snapped back hard enough to break a normal man's. He fell backward against the desk, then bounced upright. The vampire rolled his head slowly and smiled around the blood. A tight, evil smile under blue eyes flaring with yellow sparks.  
  
Do you know how I got my name, LIeutenant Finn? He asked softly, conversationally. The Lieutenant swung again for the white grin, but like the Cheshire Cat, he'd disappeared, reappearing behind the startled cop.  
I've lived a very long time, and I've learned a number of things. Finn whirled and swung again, uselessly at the now empty space.   
Spike continued to taunt him, Mostly, I've learned when to run and when to fight. Swing, punch, whirl.   
Also, I learned how to drive a railroad spike clean through your thick skull before you ever had time to scream. Took some practice.   
  
Spike was back behind Buffy's desk, leaning casually against the high back of her leather chair. Tell you what, insult me all you want. I find it quite amusing. But, I hear one word out of your mouth about Mrs. Giles, I will kill you.   
  
When Finn pulled back for another swing, this time his fist held a long ash stake. It never connected. A small golden-tanned hand with an iron grip held his bloodied fist in place.   
  
Lieutenant Finn? Would you care to explain what you're doing in my office attacking my friends? The Slayer's soft voice carried an edge of power she rarely used. Finn froze, then calculated the odds.  
  
I've got reason to believe your... friend....here was involved in a homicide.  
  
Why is that?  
  
Blood. Lots of it.  
  
She laughed, a tinkling little laugh that I'd never heard from her. You've got to be joking. Of all the vampires in this town, you want to dust my Security Chief? Buffy emphasized the title precisely. Evidently that was news to Spike, too. She stepped back and glared at Finn, Find somebody else to give the third degree.   
  
Finn wasn't going to back down. He got up closer to her, towering over her tiny figure. A monument, Ozymandias in the sands, immovable. He was seen near the body. There's a witness. He gripped Spike's arm, hard, and twisted. That's all the evidence I need.  
  
Spike hadn't said a word, seemed almost bored by the whole proceedings. Silent as a ghost, he waited for her comment. Her eyes cut toward him, and for an instant, there was a flicker of doubt. A tiny shadow in her hazel eyes.  
When he finally moved, it was like watching a whirlwind. He spun loose from Finn's grip with idle ease, gave Buffy the most dreadfully hurt look, then threw himself head first through the open French doors to the alley two floors below. I peered over Finn's shoulder to see him disappear into the inky shadows. The lieutenant knew better than to try and follow.  
  
  
tbc  
Music: Angelo Badalamenti, Red Bats with Teeth Lost Highway Soundtrack  



	8. Shadows

Chapter Eight--Shadows   
  
Tuesday Midnight at the Stake  
  
Lieutenant Finn, what do you think you're doing? Her voice was as cold as a vampire's skin in January. What's is it that you think you know?  
  
I could see the contempt in his eyes for her and her demon lover. I saw it when he looked at me, too. He gave her a raw, Arctic glare.  
  
I know this _nosferat _ isn't just your employee, Mrs. Giles. He practically snarled her name, looking around the delicate feminine atmosphere of the Slayer's new office. You think nobody knows he bumped off your old man? That you'd do anything, say anything to save that murdering... thing.   
How long has it lived? A hundred years? Finn continued his diatribe, That's too damn long in my book, and it's past time it paid for all the people it killed. If your feelings get hurt along the way, well, that's just too bad.  
  
You know nothing about me, Mr. Finn. Her voice was diamond hard, but edged with the suffering she tried to hide, My husband was killed in the explosion.  
  
Caused by the famous earthquake and gas leak combination. Heard that one before. He hacked a cough, But you and I, we know what really happened, don't we.... Mrs. _ he threw the insult like a knife.  
  
You know nothing. She repeated, At all.  
  
Finn decided to take another tack. Your...friend, Spike. He was seen talking to this poor guy in a bar. Plenty of people saw him. Then, the guy turns up stiff in a big pool of blood. It was looking like a vamp snuff to me, and believe me, I've seen a few.  
  
You must be joking. Seen in a bar? This is the flimsy crap evidence you want to dust a respectable citizen on? I put in my two-cents worth. He was out of line, big time. Finn just ignored me and went on.  
  
Believe what you want, sister. Finn turned to leave, But you tell your bloodsucker I'm taking him out. No matter who gets in the way. He put on his fedora and opened the door, Tell you the truth, I don't give a good goddamn if it was him or not. A human being was killed and one of them is going to pay for it.   
He turned a threw in a final snipe, Have yourself a real nice night, Mrs.... Giles. Oh, and Harris? You hear anything, you call me first, or I yank your license.  
  
He slammed the door shut and Buffy collapsed into the desk chair. Her wide eyes were fixed on the gold drapes blowing the evening mist in through the open French windows.  
  
Man, life is a real bitch.  
  
************* Around midnight, elsewhere. *************  
  
  
  
He wasn't on the run, really. It was just that anywhere was better than there. Listening to that git, Useless Finn, rattle on. And seeing Her eyes, burning right through him with that Look. He felt like finding the nearest piece of wood and falling on it. Wait, no he didn't.  
  
Smug bastard. Shit! What he really wanted was to kill something. Anything, just for spite and temper. Rip and tear and bite and rend limb from limb until the blood sprayed the walls in scarlet gouts. Anything, but especially Lieutenant Pillock Finn. Thinks he's a tough guy, beating his chest, all puffed up with his manly pride.   
  
He could just wait here, right around the corner, quiet as a shadow. Finn would come out of the club, blind as usual to things in the night, and he could drop behind him, follow him for a while. Just for fun. He remembered the old days, back when it was the four of them: Angelus, Darla, Dru and him. The Scourge of Europe. He grinned and thought, Unholy Terrors, we were.  
  
Finn'd never know what hit him. Just swing down off the rooftops and pull his head right off those wide Marine Corps shoulders. Nothing was stopping him. Nothing was compelling him to be a toothless, skulking thing playing the patsy for weak fools like that one. He could have his flesh hanging in bloody gobbets from the flagpole in an hour.  
  
But that wouldn't be as satisfying. He wanted Finn to know who it was that sipped the last of the hot red life from his veins. That tore the meaty neck into ribbons.   
  
That.... But then, She would know. She'd always know. He thought about everything she'd said to him and that shadow of doubt hiding in her eyes. He couldn't let her believe that of him. He wasn't a liar. Everyone knew what a lousy liar he was. He'd made her a promise and he always kept his promises.  
  
He bit down the hot red rage for another night. Choked down his demon's lusty joy of the kill for one more sunrise.   
  
He knew he hadn't killed that man and it was a waste of time worrying anymore about that, Finn, or anything else except making it right with Her.  
  
He rolled his tight neck muscles until they crackled, then stretched luxuriously. The vampire's slim form faded into the misty shadows, leaving only the pale grey streamer of his cigarette's smoke.   
  
tbc  
Music: Enigma, Shadows in Silence_


	9. Three O'Clock Blues

Chapter Nine Three O'Clock Blues  
  
3:00a.m. Wednesday morning  
  
I gave up on going back to my dump and tried to catch a few zeds on my couch. It'd done double-duty before. I was half awake and counting the water spots on the ceiling when somebody scratched on the front door. I could make out a woman's silhouette through the glass. I snatched open the door and nearly pulled Harmony Kendall off her stylish red leather pumps. She looked kinda rough for a rich gal.  
  
Oh, Mr. Harris! I just didn't know what else to do. She started sniveling as soon as she got inside, her gloved hands fluttering like a pair of blackbirds. Please, you've just got to help me!  
  
My eyes were barely open and I hadn't had any coffee . I blinked a couple of times and tried to focus in on her. She looked pale and disheveled. Her hands kept jumping around as she pawed restlessly through all the junk on my desk, and her eyes shifted uneasily around the room, looking for something in the dark.  
  
I think...I think someone was killed tonight. she stuttered.  
  
Someone's killed almost every night around here.  
  
It was a man. Someone I know... knew. there was blood...everywhere!  
  
Want me to call the cops for you?  
  
She jumped and squealed, No! It was him! Devon!   
  
Now she had my attention. Devon LaBonte, her so-called blackmailer, dead. Lots of blood. This was adding up to something.  
  
Where was this?  
  
She got all girlish and coy, curling up on the couch. Near a bar. Willy's, maybe? She was nervous, twisting a big diamond and emerald bracelet around her arm. He was just there. I don't know what happened. I just woke up and there he was. The blood was just everywhere! I saw my car and I ran! I came here, to you. She gave me the big eyes, You believe me, don't you? I'm so afraid.   
  
She buried her face in her gloved hands and her shoulders shook. I patted her back a little and mumbled something soothing. Man, this case smelled worse than three week old fish. Middle of the night, the worst part of Sunnydale, and she happens to find her dead blackmailer. Had to be the same mysterious dead guy Finn was yapping about.  
  
You're doped to the gills, aren't you, honey? I said calmly, trying to sound like the old family physician. I held her wrist below the fancy bracelet.  
  
What? No, of course I'm not... I.. Wide eyes, dilated pupils, quick thready pulse--sure, she wasn't.  
  
Either that, or you're lying to me again.  
  
I swear, Mr. Harris, I was at home asleep. Then I was just there-- on the street. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe I imagined it all. Her eyes filled with bright tears and her glistening red lips trembled. That must be it, don't you think?  
  
I patted her some more and sent her on her way. Her diamonds made fireworks in the dusty hallway. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Sometimes I just can't help myself.  
  
I was wide awake now, so I figured I may as well go home and grab a shower and a change of shirts. After that, I'd hit the all night diner for a little chow, then try and run down that damned elusive vampire.  


* * *

  
Wednesday Morning 8:00 a.m.  
Nighthawk Cafe  
  
I was polishing off a large order of waffles when Lieutenant Finn strolled into the Nighthawk and plonked down into the chair across from mine.  
Where's he at?  
  
I resisted the urge to correct his grammar and possibly start a fight in the middle of my favorite restaurant, so I played dumber. Who's that?'  
  
I could see steam rising from behind the tight collar of his wrinkled white shirt. That vampire. Spike. He ground out.  
  
I polished off the waffles and motioned for a refill of my coffee. Haven't seen him since last night.  
  
Finn curled his lip, I hear he's doing some snooping for you.  
  
You heard wrong. I don't work for demons or with them.  
  
Yeah, but you don't mind pitching a little woo with I didn't like his insinuations any better this morning, but I didn't bother arguing, just chased down a drop of syrup with the last crumb of waffle.  
  
Let's go for a ride, Harris. He was towering over my table again. Now. If you know what's good for you. He threw down a sawbuck on the table and pushed his jacket back so I could see the gold badge.  
  
Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant.   
  
I did want to see what he was up to, so I tagged along. The Crown Vic purred along the empty morning streets. The commuters had already come and gone for the day, rushing off like lemmings to Los Angeles.  
After a half hour of aimless wandering, I figured out where he was going. The cemetery.  
When're you planning on telling me what this wild goose chase is all about?  
  
Finn pulled over, but didn't answer. He opened up the trunk of the police vehicle and pulled out a gat I knew was not anything like regulation issue. It looked to be some kind of modified .44 Magnum.   
He loaded it from a box of armor piercing bullets and gave me a crooked grin. Silver-plated and blessed by the archbishop of San Francisco. AIn't gonna kill the bastard, but it'll hurt like a bitch.  
He liked to go for the hurt. Now me, I got no beef with putting away the bad guys, never did, but I got no love for hurting. That was part of the reason we left L.A. But Finn, he liked it. He got results, too. The kind the city fathers loved. Headlines and the big scores. And there was an election coming up.  
  
Finn shoved the crypt door open as far as it would go and peered closely into the cobwebby corners. It was as silent as the proverbial. Finn rolled down the ladder to the enormous bottom level. I'd been down there myself. It would take him some time. I just stood around with my hands in my pockets.  
I felt a chilly breeze on my neck and a soft whisper come out of the shadows.  
  
  
  
I don't know what he wants.  
  
Don't you? He's proving he's a man. A real man. Better than my filthy breed. He thinks I won't kill him. I noticed he didn't say he wouldn't kill Finn.  
  
Look, I'm sorry about all this. I could hear splintering noises and the crunch of broken glass down below. I'll try and get him to leave.  
  
Don't bother. He'd just keep coming back until he finds whatever he's after.  
  
He doesn't know you.  
  
Spike ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe he likes to live dangerously. We both heard the groan of heavy furniture being heaved around and the cop's loud curses. Perhaps it's time for Finn's get-out-of-hell-free card to be punched.  
  
You won't kill him.  
  
Not me, personally. Spike was a good leader, when he wasn't distracted by beautiful blonde Slayers. I'd seen him in action and he knew how to get it done. Finn was making enemies in the law-abiding demon community. Eventually, he'd just disappear one night. Cease to be a stake in the heart of Demontown. I shivered a little and Spike faded back into the shadows.  
  
tbc  
Music: Three O'Clock Blues' B.B. King & Eric Clapton


	10. Crossing Lines

Chapter Ten --- Crossing Lines  
Wednesday 9:00a.m.  
  
I called downstairs, Finn. Come on. You're wasting my time.  
  
Finn grunted something, then kicked another piece of furniture across the room and into a wall. I heard the wood splinter against the rock walls. Finn's head appeared at the entrance to the lower level He was lugging a hefty leather satchel.  
  
Looky here what I found. Your punk buddy had some goodies stashed away. Reckon he thought he'd set himself up as a wizard.   
  
He dumped a bag full of crumbling manuscripts and scrolls, along with a dozen talismans and a few bags of herbs out onto the dusty floor and kicked them into a pile. Then he shook out a cigarette and lit it off a big kitchen match.   
  
Hmm, y'know, most accidents happen at home, he smirked and dropped the match onto the dry papers. A tendril of gray smoke curled up immediately from the ancient volumes. Looks like I just had one.  
  
Look, Riley. You're a good cop. I know how it is. Back in L.A. I saw things that I thought I'd never get over. It was hard working up sympathy for him, but I tried. I had a feeling the _brothers-in-arms _ bit wasn't working. I get that you're pissed and I even get that there's a lot of other stuff bothering you. But man, you just can't go on doing shit like this. I tried to warn him. I should have saved my breath.  
  
He barked out a harsh laugh, What's the matter, Harris. Getting soft in your old age, or have you just decided to bat for the other team? Maybe letting your little pet fang have a nibble? He sneered at me. You're as bad as the slut that running the Stake.  
  
That's when I hit him. His ass hit the smoldering pile of books with a thud. He laughed up at me from the floor.  
  
You can't handle the truth, can you, pal? They're gonna eat you for breakfast. One way or the other. He struggled to his feet and kicked the mess around further. And when they nail you, I'll be there, laughing.  
  
He made a dramatic exit, his long coat flapping around his ankles, into the morning light. Eliott Ness, triumphant, into the brightening sunlight.  
  
Somewhere I'd crossed a line. Somehow I had changed. Well, if Finn was standing there on the other side, I guessed I wouldn't be in any hurry to cross back. I stood in the doorway and listened to the Crown Vic roar off. Spike stepped out of the shadows again and stood at my elbow quietly. I patted down my pockets for my pack of smokes. Spike shook out two of his and handed me one. He flopped down on a sarcophagus a smoked a while. I did too.  


* * *

  
Wednesday noon Willy's Alibi Room  
  
Willy's is not the most appealing of bars, even after dark when most of the grunge is hidden. Willy's by daylight is even less so, if that's at all possible. That's where the information always ends up though.  
  
We'd claimed a seat in the high-backed booth near the back room. I had filled in Spike about the latest developments with the LaBonte case. That didn't take long. He had nothing on the Latin stuff, yet. He was giving me the lowdown on the _bokur_, a wild card named Meers. I heard a low and a shifty eyed demon with more loose skin than a basset hound shuffled over.  
  
He slid down next to me and grabbed one of the plastic-covered menus to hide behind. Good trick, seeing as how his bat ears stuck out a foot.  
Ah, Spike, he whispered confidentially, Got some news for you.  
  
And this would be exactly what?  
  
Ah, well, that would be telling, see...and I'm sooo thirsty.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes and flagged down the bartender while our nervous informant murmured across the table.  
  
Zombie's getting raised for cash, I hear.  
  
Old news. Keep talking.  
  
Floppy Ears seemed insulted by our lack of excitement. Well, how about this: Zombie Master's paying cash for something else. He's looking for something he lost. A cup, maybe. He happily sucked down a gaily decorated glass of thin gray slime through a twisty straw.  
  
Spike looked even more bored, if that is even possible. Floppy looked nervously around the nearly empty bar, trying to dredge up something worth another drink.  
  
Poison, then?  
  
I fail to see why would that interest me, Spike intoned. The mention of poison caught my attention, though, and Floppy noticed.  
  
The demon looked over at me oddly, Oh, pardon me. I assumed you and this human were working together.  
  
Hey now, no need to get insulting, Spike growled and curled his lip. I don't work for anybody.  
  
I turned to Spike with an evil leer and called for another glass of the gray sludge our guest was drinking. I looked attentive.  
  
Tell me all about this poison?  
  
Floppy scratched behind his ears with one massive paw, Well, this guy, Warren Meers makes it. Nasty stuff...very messy with the blood and everything. He's got a lab someplace around town. And... there's something about a cup ...very important....And... he gulped down the rest of his swill, 'S'all I know. Bye. The demon leaped to his feet like a jackrabbit and made for the back stairs. Thanks. Gotta run, he called as he disappeared down toward the basement tunnels.  
  
Spike was seething.  
Not only have you ruined my reputation, but you got royally suckered by Clement. Everyone knows he's a tosser.  
  
I snorted a laugh. Sorry, I'll try and remember that. That poison, though... you remember Larry.  
  
Yeah, so?  
  
So this Meers is a sorcerer. I'm thinking he's the source, maybe even the killer.  
Yeah, I figured that much.  
  
What I can't figure is Finn. Why drag me into this? And why is he trying to pin this LaBonte case on you? I thought for a moment, He's been all over you like a cheap suit.  
  
Spike laughed, a low rough sound, He's been all over me for donkey's years. He stopped and considered something. Y'got me thinking, though. Let me get back to you later tonight.  
  
He leaped up and followed Clement's path to the downstairs tunnels. I finished the drink I really didn't need and lit up a smoke I didn't really want. Something was nagging at me. Something important.  
  
The package. I'd put it away and forgotten all about it.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Etta James, Walking the Back Streets, from Matriarch of the Blues


	11. Locuta's Bane

Chapter Eleven --- Locuta's Bane  
  
Wednesday Afternoon, 2:00 p.m.  
  
The answering machine was lit up like a Christmas tree. I ignored it and went directly to the bookcase and unwrapped the little bundle poor old Larry had given me with this last breath. The thing he'd died to protect.  
  
There it was. A rather nondescript wooden box, about eight inches long and four inches wide, with a plain brass clasp and lock. I held it in my hand and looked it over. The longer I looked, the odder things began to get. The surface of the box---shifted--flowed---breathed. There was an unsettling sensation of holding something alive, of living flesh in my hands. Slightly sticky and shockingly sensuous. It made me want to vomit.   
  
This thing was tainted, wrong. I fought down my revulsion and pried open the lid with my letter opener.   
It opened with a greasy sort of sound and a sigh, accompanied by an outpouring of smell. I'd smelled it before. One Sunday afternoon, August in L.A., and an extrememly dead guy stuffed in the trunk of a Cadillac. He'd been there at least three weeks. You never forget that smell. Or the flies.  
  
Inside the box, nestled in a faded bed of red velvet, lay a small polished goblet. It didn't look like much. It was old, really old. The glass was full of occlusions and wavy flaws like the ones I'd seen in the Egyptian display at the museum. It was plain, no fancy decorations or gold rim, just nearly colorless glass with two curving handles and a carved stem.   
  
My hands ached to touch it. The glass felt pleasantly cool to the touch, then it began to warm in my hands. Velvet soft, like Anyanka's skin. So smooth, like silk. I held it up to the light. At first, I could see nothing much, but then as I looked closer, the rippled glass seemed to swarm with movement.   
  
Alive. As though things swam close beneath the clouded surface. Shadowy matter wriggling and slithering in some horrid parody of life.   
The daylight reflected rainbows of light from the cup and the brillance filled my field of vision. The glow was so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.   
  
I wanted this thing, more than life. I would do anything, be anything to keep it. To drink from it. I adored it, loved it.   
  
I hated it. It repulsed me and it drew me down toward its tranquil depths. It was wonderful there. Quiet. There was a feeling of falling, far and away.... then silence dark and old.  


* * *

  
  
Mr. Harris? A light, feminine voice was calling me from some remote place. I ignored it.  
Mr. Harris. Look at me! She slapped me, hard.   
  
I blinked my eyes and slowly a pale face resolved into focus. Long blonde hair, big hazel eyes. Someone I knew.....  
  
Mrs. Giles? I said stupidly. Had somebody'd slipped me a Mickey? I felt like my head was stuffed with cotton, and I was pretty sure I was sober.   
  
Mrs. Giles was wearing a pair of brown leather gloves and holding the box near where my hand gripped the cup. She stared hard at me, compelling me to obey her.  
  
Drop it in here. Now. My face was stinging from the slap. I figured I'd better do as I was told before she slugged me again.  
  
I dropped the cup into the velvet nest. She slammed the box shut with unnecessary force.  
  
You've got to start being more careful, Mr. Harris.  
  
She was right there. I felt like somebody'd turned me inside out and back again. I sat down on the front edge of my desk and took a deep breath.  
  
What the fu.... pardon me. . Hell. What was that thing?  
  
She looked at me kindly, That thing is a mystical artifact called Locuta's Bane. A sort of unholy grail to the demon world.  
  
This grail dingus is involved in at least two murders. Some kind of way this sorcerer, Meers, is making poison with it.  
  
I heard. She picked up yesterday's racing form and started wrapping up the box again neatly, careful not to touch it with her bare skin. Spike called me with some information about this thing. He's still trying to run down another lead on how it's being used to make this poison. She was ready to go, but she turned around gave me a sad little smile. Let me worry about this thing for a while. I know a place where it might be safe.  
  
My head was splitting apart and the fading afternoon light scorched my eyes. I wondered just how long I'd stood there holding that Damned thing? I looked at my wristwatch. Five o'clock. I'd been standing there staring into it for three hours.  
  
Buffy looked into my eyes sympathetically and put a warm hand over mine.  
I just want to tell you I appreciate everything you've done for me. I know how much you hate all this, and I'm sorry.  
  
I looked up at her, touched in spite of everything. Not your problem. It goes with the job.  
  
She nodded and turned to leave again, but not without one final reminder.  
Be careful.  
  
tbc  
Music: Angelo Badalamenti, Mountains Falling, Mulholland Falls soundtrack


	12. Malfacteur

Chapter Twelve------ Malfacteur  
  
Wednesday After Sunset. 6:15 p.m.  
  
What I really wanted was a tall bourbon after all that. My head was throbbing like the USD drum & bugle corps had been using my brain for a practice field. Instead of a well deserved drink, I figured I may as well get in all the pain I could stand for one day.  
  
Miss Kendall, I'm coming out to the ranch now.  
  
She sputtered a minute, then agreed to see me. I wondered why she was dragging her feet? She'd left five messages, each more irritating and hysterical than the last.  
  
The drive didn't get any shorter. The road was slick with road grease and the wet fog rolling in off the Pacific. Between the wind screaming in from the growing storm and the wet asphalt, it was all I could do to keep the DeSoto on the blacktop curves. I was glad to pull onto the long driveway to the Kendall rancho.  
  
Before the echo of my knuckles on the front door had ceased, Harmony Kendall was wrapped around me in a teary-eyed swirl of cloying honeysuckle perfume and yellow silk.  
Oh, Mr. Harris.... Xander! I'm simply devastated!   
She flung herself into a soft leather chair and began to sob. Her hankie was a scrap of lace embroidered with ivy and her initials.  
He... he said he'd arrest me. That I'd go to prison for murdering Devon! She was getting frantic again, looking up at me with those big wet eyes. I swear, it wasn't me! I couldn't possibly have done it. I wondered how she could cry like that and stay looking so gorgeous.   
  
I sat on the arm of the chair and patted her back. She clutched at my shirtfront like a life preserver. I'm lousy at the comforting hero routine. I never know what to do with my hands. I kept patting her back and murmuring nonsense until she quit crying.   
  
Look, Miss Kendall, the cops haven't got anything on you. They're trying to pin it on somebody else.  
  
She looked up at me, the pupils of her eyes fully dilated and sparkling with joy. Or maybe it was something more to do with chemistry. Money can get you a lot of things, and she had plenty of that.  
  
It's probably just a fishing expedition, anyway. Cops do that sometimes. Who was this guy?  
  
She giggled and sniffled a bit, Fishing? That's funny. His name is Finn. He said he was a detective. That set her off on another fit of giggles.  
  
Crap. Well, wasn't that just peachy. I told her to stay put and call me if he bothered her again. He probably wouldn't though. He was too busy shaking down the residents of Demontown. Finn. Every time I turned around, there he was.  
  


* * *

************************ The Silver Stake 7:00 pm****************************  
  
Spike had given up getting the books he wanted from his crypt, at least for the night. He wondered occasionally why he even kept the place, other than it went with the whole bad-boy persona. The Shady Rest was crawling with black-and-whites, courtesy of Lieutenant Nosy Finn.  
  
He'd settled onto a rooftop perch just outside the Slayer's office at the Stake. He figured on dropping in for a chat. He smiled a little to himself. She'd sounded so happy to hear from him earlier. Maybe she could help him suss out just what the hell was going on. He had a few theories, but most of them didn't make any kind of normal sense. Of course, not much made sense these days.  
What would really make sense sometimes would be to just grab the Slayer and take off. Maybe Brazil. Maybe Norway. Get the hell away from this place.  
  
He'd been sitting there for the better part of an hour, when he heard a faint yelp somewhere near the offices. Probably just some of the new guys fooling around, but...   
Then, he felt it. A stir of Dark Magic. He really hated sorcerers. Thoroughly nasty lot, all of em.  
  
He flipped over the roof edge and hung by his hands just long enough to land softly on the ledge that ran along the second floor. He clung like a slick black spider to the wall, edging along to the balcony. Spike peered through the open French doors.   
  
Someone was in there. A dark haired man, dressed in a dirty white robe of some sort, stood with his back to the windows. He was rambling through Buffy's files, dumping out drawers and slinging papers everywhere. He had even pulled the new paintings off the walls in his search.   
The vampire grinned to himself. Ooh, a bad guy, an honest-to-God bad guy. And a dark magician. Bonus points in the fun category. Buffy couldn't possibly mind if I just batted him around. Little bit of mayhem before bedtime would go down a treat.  
  
Spike crept noiselessly onto the balcony, close enough to make a quick leap into the room. He even had a humorous quip ready.  
  
As he made the leap, he realized a number of important things.  
First, the guy was Meers.  
Second, Meers had a whole pack of zombies with him.  
and lastly, stopping to make a plan is smarter than being clubbed in the head by a clutch of bat-wielding zombies.  
  
Spike hit the carpet like a load of bricks.   
The zombies stood passively around holding onto their weapons, their task accomplished. The unfocused stare of the living dead might have unnerved an ordinary person. The only other breathing person in the room was far from ordinary. The sorcerer in his soiled garmets bent over the vampire, holding a small glass vial filled with a sparkling green liquid.  
Meers looked over at his zombies and grinned, I was going to test this batch out on the Slayer, but I find random experimentation fascinating, don't you? Let's give it a whirl, shall we?  
The zombies didn't answer. Meers poured the liquid down the unconscious vampire's throat, then swept his entourage out the open office doorway.  
  
  
tbc  
Malafacteur: evil doer  
Music: Coldplay, 


	13. Vengence

Chapter Thirteen -- Vengeance  
  
Wednesday Evening 7:00 pm  
  
Harmony had claimed to know nothing about her chauffeur's murder, but it looking hinky to me. I'd never bought the photo angle, and it seemed to me that every answer I got just led to a dozen more unanswered questions. I tried to line up the coincidences and the players. Coincidence on the Hellmouth generally leads to something nasty with a high body count.   
  
I walked down the hall to my office and noticed the office door was hanging ajar. Not usually a good sign.  
My office looked like a trailer park after a tornado. I waded through the shoals of paper and broken crap to my desk. It was missing a leg and the drawers were flipped upside-down in the floor. There was a big crack in the window and a half-burnt kitchen match was stuck in the break. A message from my very favorite flatfoot.  
  
The Shady Rest had been crawling with cop cars when I cruised by earlier, so I headed for the next best place to find the erstwhile club Security Chief. I parked in back of the Stake and slipped in through the back entrance. Easy as pie. In fact, too easy. Security was getting lax. Then, I noticed something: big piles of dust in the hallway. Bad. Very bad.  
  
I took it on the run for the Slayer's office. She was on her knees beside Spike's body. He looked a lot deader than usual. She turned to me with a devastated bleakness in her eyes that told me whatever their problems in the past, and there were plenty of them, she loved him. Truly, madly, deeply.  
  
Buffy held his head in her lap and stroked the curling white hair back from his forehead. Tears ran down her chin, dripping onto the still face of her lover. Blood stained his clothes blacker, and beneath him, a crimson splash painted a map of death.  
I was frozen in place by the doorway. Buffy empty gaze was fixed behind my shoulder. I turned to see who was there.  
I breathed. Her attention was all for the Slayer.  
  
I could hear your cry for vengeance across the dimensions.  
  
Buffy's eyes were as ice-cold as her lover's body. I don't need any help. I can handle the vengeance myself. What can you do for me? I stared at the two women. There was an electric current of anger in the air.  
  
I can save him. She pointed to the still form, For a time. I can take him to Arashmahar.  
  
Can you cure him?  
That does not lie within my power. You are wasting time. What is your wish?  
Keep him alive.  
Wish granted. Anyanka nodded her head sagely, then glanced at me with a tiny smile.  
Buffy nodded briefly. I need a place to start looking. You got any ideas?  
This is very similar to a Sumerian spirit poison, but it's nothing I've ever seen before, Anyanka said thoughtfully, You might want to look for a sorcerer.  
  
.   
Evidently that was all we were going to get out of Anyanka. Buffy gave Spike's hair a final stroke and Anyanka bent down close to his body. She looked up at me from beneath her long lashes and smiled.  
  
You won't forget me, will you?  
  
I couldn't if I wanted to, baby.  
  
She turned and lifted him effortlessly into her arms, then disappeared in a burst of brilliant golden light. I'd blinked and they were gone. The Slayer turned to me with a grim look of determination.  
So what've we got, Xander?  
Not a helluva lot.  
  
Buffy grasped my arms firmly. You and I are going to find the guy who did this and we're going to make him fix this. If he poisoned Spike, he can cure him.  
  
I nodded, even though I doubted anybody had a remedy for what was killing Spike. This had to be the same stuff that killed Larry and LaBonte. She was grasping at straws. One thing we could do, though, was make the sonofabitch pay.  
  
I'd never imagined anyone could hold so much blood. It soaked through the carpets and tricked down to stain the pale wood flooring. I didn't care if he was a demon, Spike was my friend, and I was going to make somebody pay.  
  
Somebody's dusted the security. Looks like we'll be on our own. Can you handle it? I asked her.  
  
She chuffed a little laugh, I've been a slayer since I was fifteen. I can handle it okay.  


* * *

  
Wednesday 9:00 pm The Silver Stake  
  
The only place I could think of to start looking was in Spike's notes on the zombies. All the other leads were going nowhere fast. I looked over his notebook while Buffy sharpened her weapons.   
He had a list of zombie sightings and three addresses marked along with Zombie Master=Warren Meers. He had been close and we hadn't known it.  
Spike had written a few things about the Crystallus and noted down a book on poison. Nothing on Mesopotamia or the Sumerians. I finally found a reference to Locuta's Bane with a drawing of the thing. I'd gotten off easily. A wizard in Spain, around 1376, had been trying to use it to create something called a philosopher's stone. Right before he turned half his village into hamburger. Charming little item.   
As I could personally testify, just holding it was a rush unlike anything I'd ever experienced. If this was what Meers had been playing with, he wasn't just dangerous. He was doubtless homicidally insane.  
Meers must be manufacturing this poison, somehow using the cup to do it. Spike must have gotten too close and Meers decided to bump him off. Then, too, there was a certain persistent cop. I talked it over with Buffy and she agreed.  
  
How about I go check out what our friend Finn is up to. He's too damned interested in this business to be on the up and up.  
  
No, let me take Finn. He's watching for you. Me, he just doesn't respect.   
  
I had to agree. She was quick, smart and best of all strong. I figured she could handle him if push came to shove. She made a fast change into her dark stealth wear and took off for the precinct house. I took the list of addresses from Spike's notebook and got ready to earn my keep.  


* * *

  
tbc  
Music: Karl Jenkins comp., the London Philharmonic, 


	14. One Lucky Break

Chapter Fourteen --- One Lucky Break  
  
Wednesday 9:00 pm  
S.D.P.D. Downtown  
  
Buffy had found a vantage point on the roof next door to the precinct house. She'd watched Finn for hours. His buddies came in and shot the bull; he wandered into the squad room and had coffee; he made a few telephone calls and typed some reports with two fingers. He was happy, confident and maybe looking a bit bored with the routine. She yawned and shifted a little in her damp perch. Buffy was ready to give it up, when the phone on his desk rang. He picked up and her senses went on high alert.  
  
He looked around suspiciously, then walked over to stand directly in front of the window while he talked. She grinned to herself. Bingo. He was excited about something, really thrilled. He hung up with a bang and grabbed his trench coat.  
  
Buffy slid off the roof and down the gutters to the locked police parking lot.   
Maybe she'd get lucky. They all deserved a little luck tonight.  
  
Finn strolled out casually, stopping to joke around with some of the uniforms, then strolled purposefully toward an enormous black Ford pickup. Top-of-the-line, plenty of chrome and brand-new. He flicked the remote lock and the lights winked on for a second. Finn turned around and looked out toward the station. Buffy had her chance. She slid over the back panel like mercury and scooted up tight against the passenger compartment. Her black clothes made her only one more shadow. One lucky break. The worst he could do was throw her out. Best case scenario...oh yeah, getting better all the time.  
  
Finn didn't notice his passenger. He was buzzed, slapping the steering wheel and chain-smoking until the air was blue. He finally cracked the back window a little as they roared down the coast road. She could hear the crackle of the police radio and Finn singing a country tune. The radio hissed out more indecipherable gibberish and Finn muttered some numbers into the speaker and laughed. The voice on the other end laughed, too.   
  
The truck finally bumped off the main highway and down a muddy track that appeared to lead up into the hills. They slithered around a while, then finally came to a skidding halt. The cooling engine's ticking sounded like gunshots in the dead quiet air.  
  
he muttered impatiently.  
  
Then the headlights of another vehicle lit up the interior of the truck. Finn jumped out and slammed the door so hard it rattled. Buffy gave it a few minutes, then eased over the side, slick as a lizard. She needn't have bothered. From her concealed spot in the scrub she had a clear view of the action. There was plenty of it to see.  
  
Riley Finn was wrapped in mink. Harmony Kendall's mink-clad arms. He wouldn't have noticed Godzilla. Buffy watched them critically for a while. They finally tired of the groping and pawing. He leaned back against the hood of her white Jaguar and gave her a satisfied leer.  
  
We're good, aren't we, baby? Harmony cooed breathlessly.  
  
Good as gold, baby. Spike is gonna take the fall for LaBonte. I made sure of that. He grinned smugly and pulled her in for another hot kiss.  
  
What about Warren? I think he's loosing it. She pulled back from him a little and ran her hands through her mussed up hair.  
  
Warren took care of our little Spike problem. I'll take care of Dr. Meers myself. The Slayer clenched her hands into fists. That answered one question. Now she wanted to know why.  
  
I'm worried though, sweetie, she wheedled, You know how important it is.  
  
Don't worry about it. We've got almost everything we need to duplicate the formula. It shouldn't take long to shake it loose. We don't need him anymore.  
  
Are you sure? I've got to have it before Daddy gets back. She chewed her lip a little and ran her hands inside Finn's unbuttoned shirt front.  
  
I'll take care of it, Harmony, and that smart ass shamus you hired, too. He's been asking for it for a while.  
  
Promise, baby? She stroked the side of his face softly then teased his lips with the tip of her pink tongue.  
  
I'll get it. We know what we're missing. It's just a matter of time until I find it. Meers is a loose cannon. I'll deal with him.  
  
She blinked those enormous baby blues at him and wrapped her legs around him for a while.  
  
After a few more steamy clinches, Finn put her in the Jag and watched as she waved goodbye. He fumbled around in the front, looking for something. Buffy slipped back into the truck unnoticed. Things were falling into place. Maybe too late to save Spike, but not too late for a little Slayer vengeance.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Bob James, 


	15. Blood and Sand

Chapter Fifteen ----Blood and Sand  
  
  
10:00 p.m. Wednesday  
  
The first two places were a bust. The first one, an abandoned warehouse about a block from my office, looked like it had been recently evacuated. I found a few scraps of paper and a receipt for some lab equipment . The second was farther out of town and even emptier, except for a rank animal smell and a few broken bottles.  
  
I drove north along the coast road, the third time in as many days. The twisting road was becoming familiar territory. The last address on the list was a small frame house, sitting by itself on a bluff overlooking the ocean The house was dark and a few days worth of newspapers were piled up in the yard. I crept along the side of the house and slipped inside the unlocked back door.  
  
I flipped the light switch and looked around. Notebooks and papers were scattered everywhere. I negotiated the maze of packing boxes and looked closer. There was plenty of strange here. A fish hung on the wall, puffed up and prickly as a porcupine. Jars of neatly labeled and preserved snakes and frogs shared shelf space with heavy textbooks. A blue bound copy of the Alchemist's Desk Reference was spread open on a worn recliner.   
  
I opened one of the notebooks. Someone's precise handwriting spelled out what looked like gibberish to me: Arcane symbols, complicated formulae and drawings of plants and fish. I stuck it in my pocket and flipped through the A.D.R.  
  
One of the bookmarks was a photograph of a smiling dark-haired man standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. One the back was a lipstick kiss. Stuck behind more specimen jars was a tattered diploma. Harvard University, School of Alchemy.   
  
Apparently, Warren Meers had received his doctorate in Ethnopharmacology. Interesting. Even more interesting was the blue and white lanyard holding an ident badge from Kendall Pharmaceuticals.  
  
I walked out back to think things over. With the waves roaring, I couldn't hear much of anything, but I did notice a blaze of fire down on the beach. Probably just a bunch of kids making a bonfire. Maybe something else. I decided to stick my neck out for a closer look.  
  
Among my many smart moves, this was not the smartest. I was halfway down the path when I heard the jingle of sleigh bells and felt a rush of air. That was the last thing I remembered until I woke up facedown on a storm-washed beach with my hands stuck in something that smelled like last week's lunch.  


* * *

  
  
Things were starting to get clearer. I could hear drumbeats now. Maybe it was the pulse pounding in my head or the surf punishing the beach. Thunder rolled again close by and lightning blazed within the heavy-bottomed clouds.  
  
I could raise my head a little, enough to peer around. Very close by, I could distinguish what looked like the entrance to a sea cave, the interior glowing with light.  
  
The rocky chamber was lit by candles stuck on every conceivable surface. There was a scattering of test tubes and lab paraphernalia interspersed with a collection of small animal skulls. Steam and the scent of something disgusting rose from an old marble pestle into the cool night air. Incongruously, brightly colored ribbons and strings of mirrors swayed gently in the candlelight. This was someone's inner sanctum.  
  
An old wooden table covered with red and black satin was piled deep with artifacts. An altar. A grinning human skull wearing a multi-colored crown of candle wax held center stage. I glimpsed feathers and the bodies of two limp blue lizards among the scattering of playing cards and glass bottles full of colored powders. There was a stench of death in the air. Half a dozen zombies stood patiently around in the dim recesses of the cave. One of them languidly thumped a tub-shaped drum with what looked like a human thighbone.  
  
Wakey-wakey, Mr. Harris. A pair of dilated eyes glittered in the reflected firelight. That face. I remembered everything now.  
  
The man from the photograph, though sadly changed, stood in front of my burning eyes. Wrapped in some mad approximation of ceremonial robes with his face painted in jagged white designs, he stood over me, black eyes glaring wildly. Dr. Meers.  
  
You're awake, my deary-dear, he sing-songed, Now we wake them up. My toys, my boys. My deary-dears, raise them up to serve my sweet bride.   
  
He giggled, a high rising sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck. My very own Dwight Frye. He danced and sang around the smoldering bonfire, red and green bells chiming as he leaped the low flames.  
  
My body was leaden, anchored to the sand like a beached whale. Meers threw something powdery into the fire, then sucked down a mouthful of cheap rum from a bottle. He blew a fine spray of liquor onto the fire and stamped, keeping time with the drumbeat.  
  
It's a secret, you see. Special. A special, wonderful gift for my princess, high in her tower. Special.   
He leaped comically, spinning and dipping into the sand. The zombie still thumped the drum inside the cave. The pulsing sound echoed on the cliff face.   
  
Sleep without eating...walk in the midnight hours.... walk... rise, he chanted in a low, planitive tenor.  
  
He bent and scrabbled in the sand near the cave mouth, then rose up with a machete grasped in his right hand. He swung it in arcs around his head wildly, making the air hiss, the blade reflecting the flashes of lightening out over the sea. I could hear the thunder moving closer.  
  
He brought the blade down toward my back and I could feel the cold numbing sting as it penetrated the flesh of my right calf. The _bokur_'s eyes flared and rolled as strings of foam poured from his mouth. He was lost to all human persuasion, his body twisted into convulsions.  
  
I wrenched my head from side to side, trying to loosen the arcane bonds that held me to the wet sand. That's when I saw them, stacked like cordwood not twenty feet from me. Bodies, dozens of them.  
  
The blade cut deep this time in my other leg and I could feel the hot spill of my blood spreading into the sand. I could see a stir in the stiff husks on the beach.  
  
You see, Mr. Harris, Meers had slipped into a strange trance state, his eyes vacant, One must always make the cuts shallow, allowing the blood to infuse the _corps cadavre _ for the maximum effectiveness. What was he babbling about? He kept yapping and I kept trying to wriggle loose. He sliced into the top of my thigh and crooned, Therefore, after application of phystostrigmine venenosum and bufotoxin, the zombi will be of the utmost usefulness in fields and farmlands.  
  
Warren. Dr. Meers... I choked out a cough.  
  
Shh. Quiet now. Must concentrate. He chuckled, You'll see, this time it will be perfect. Like Saint Germain. The lifeforce will remain stable.  
  
What? No, listen to me!  
  
He giggled again, lost in the netherworld of whatever strange concoction he had running through his veins. My blood trickled into the sands and my mind followed.  
  
tbc  
Music: Lisa Gerrard and Pieter Bourke, 


	16. Walking Dead

Chapter Sixteen ---Walking Dead  
  
On the Beach  
  
Warren, I gasped, Listen to me   
  
He looked down at me through glassy eyes and grinned a little.  
  
This poison you're making....   
  
He laughed shrilly and limped over to stroke the rising bodies of his new zombies, It's not poison. It's an elixer, for her. Like my lovelies here. He patted their heads with paternal happiness. They staggered around blindly, looking toward the _bokur_ for direction.  
  
What about the crystallus? Locuta's Bane? Don't you need it?  
  
I had his attention now. The bells on his tattered robes jingled wildly and he ran over to me, You've got it? The Grail? He demanded, shaking my still weak arms, I need it to finish the elixer.  
  
I choked and coughed, still trying to release my hands from the gluey slime.   
  
You poisoned the only person who knew where it was, I said.   
  
You're a liar!   
  
Am I? My legs felt cold. I could feel icicles of blood creep down my legs freezing me, binding me to the walking dead men.  
  
LaBonte? He sniggered, That fool didn't know anything.  
  
Spike. The vampire at the Stake.   
  
Meers' eyes had a wide white rim surrounding the pitch-black iris. Strings of saliva poured from his gaping mouth.   
  
But she told me.... she wanted... LaBonte was supposed to... He grasped his hair in handsfuls and yanked, like he was trying to literally pull out the answers. Then he burst into peals of demented laughter.  
Wait! Of course! I know... His eyes were sharp and calculating, aware finally of his surrounding.  
  
  
Whatever he knew stayed a mystery. A dozen things seemed to happen at once. A brilliant flash of lightening hit the beach, followed by the sharp stink of ozone. The storm that had been lurking out at sea for days had made landfall and the surf was whipped into a yellow froth blowing full into my face. The wind screamed into the hidden cove, making the zombies stagger against its fury. A wave broke high on the sand, flooding the cave floor and soaking me from head to foot. A few of the walking dead men were swept out to sea in the backwash.  
  
I was suddenly able to yank free of the restraints and got the feeling back in my various parts. I lurched to my feet and took a stance.  
  
Warren threw himself at me in a berserk frenzy. We fought like two weaving drunks in a bar brawl. Him, with a madman's strength; Me, staggering with blood loss and exhaustion. The poor old zombies flailed randomly around the beach, lost without the bokur's control.  
  
He slammed me down inside the cave. Dried frogskins and something that looked like a dried monkey's paw fell in my face. I staggered upright and pasted him a good one in the kisser. We reeled around in the sand for a while, trading swings. I got in a more few good hits, but with the driving rain and the uselessness of my legs, I was an easy mark. Meers backhanded me and I went down with a thump, rolling ass over teakettle back inside the mouth of the cave. I was beat.  
  
Meers stood over me, the filthy machete held ready to slice me into fish bait. Suddenly, he pitched over at my feet, gurgling and choking for breath. His body stiffened in shock. Frothy blood poured from his lips into the sand and Warren grunted in pain, his eyes fixed vacantly. From the size of the hole in his chest, somebody was shooting with some very heavy ammo and a helluva night scope. I heard the crack of gunfire echo against the cliffs. Around me, the newly-raised zombies lost their heads in an explosion of fat, wet splats. I played deader, avoiding the marksman.  
  
It had to be Finn. I could see the muzzle flash through the pouring rain. He was up on the cliffs and I was flat on my back in the middle of the killing field. Another shot pinged against the cave wall close to my face. The rain had let up some and the storm was moving on down the coast. Thunder rumbled a ways off, then it got very quiet.  
  
The only sound I could hear over the soft patter of the rain, was the tick-tick of sand crabs creeping out to investigate the bodies. Tiny claws, crinkling the wet sand, tickling my cold skin.  
  
I must have passed out again. When I came to, the moon was out and the sky was clear enough to make out the constellations. I could count the piles of dead men on the beach by moonlight. I rolled over and sat up. Warren was clearly dead but his body still twitched and shivered with a sort of pseudo-life. The beach crabs were all over him. There was no sign of Finn or anyone else. I was going to have a long, cold walk home.  
  


* * *

  
tbc  
  
Music Trent Reznor, Driver Down


	17. News From Arashmahar

Chapter Seventeen-- News From Arashmahar  
  
I put my half-numb hands against the sandy wall of the cave and pushed myself up. My head was spinning like I'd been on the Happy-Go-Pukey carnival ride all night long. Time passed. I staggered around the cave, knocking over jars and bottles. That gave me a bright idea. I needed a weapon. A broken-necked bottle had pretty good heft. Better than nothing.  
My legs felt like they were dissolving to smoke. The cuts were still trickling blood into my wet shoes and I was lightheaded. I leaned against the altar. Under the satin skirts I saw a couple of notebooks like the ones I'd read upstairs. I pocketed them on g.p.'s.  
An agony of time passed before I heard the crunch of footsteps in the sand outside.  
Okay, Harris, I told myself, You're a tough guy. You can take out one dirty cop. Easy as pie.  
I leaned against the wall with my bottle and gritted my teeth. It was a short wait. A dark silhouette appeared in the entrance.  
Mrs. Giles. I've never been so glad to see anybody in my life.  
  
She cleaned me up silently and wiped off the most of the cuts with sea water and the hem of her black shirt. Buffy glanced over at the sad piles of bodies scattered around the beach, and a single tear rolled off her chin. It seemed like hours passed while we sat there on the beach, but it was probably only a few minutes.  
  
Anything from Arashmahar? I asked at last.  
  
She shook her head no. My head ached, my arms were bruised and my legs were still bleeding sluggishly. I needed to be at home and in bed. I felt like I hadn't slept in days. Buffy looked worse. She had cuts in a dozen places and bruises in more, but the worst part was the look she wore. A sad, lost, defeated gaze.  
I followed Finn, she said, He met up with a hot blonde in a Jaguar. Harmony Kendall. Your rich bitch client.  
  
Finn and Harmony? I'd been played for a prize chump. I don't know why I was surprised. Not a thing should surprise me about Finn.  
  
She said something about synthesizing the formula they'd gotten from Dr. Meers. They only need one more thing.  
  
Did you find out what it was?  
  
She grimaced and shook her head. Lost my temper. I beat the shit out of Finn after he started popping the zombies. He couldn't talk too much after that.  
  
Huh, I observed brilliantly, Anything else?  
  
Evidently Warren, here, had outlived his usefulness, she waved at the unmoving crop of zombies and the mess that was formerly Warren Meers, Ph.D.  
  
Before he died Warren said something about needing the Grail to finish an elixir. Aeternus, I think he called it.  
  
That must be what they're missing, then. I'm sorry I couldn't stop this sooner, Xander, Buffy said, I hate that you got hurt.  
  
  
It's really not, though. I should have been on top of it. Paid more attention. She was pensive, probably thinking of someone else she hadn't been able to save. And the thing is, it's not over yet. Finn is still looking for you with murder in mind .  
  
What else is new.  
  
I was on the verge of falling asleep or passing out when a maddening thought struck me. The chauffeur, LaBonte. She tipped back on her heels and stared. Why him? Why kill him?  
  
She smiled, Tomorrow, Xander. We'll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, we've got to get you home.  
  
I had to agree with that. We leaned on each other and crept up the cliff path to my car.  


* * *

  
Thursday 10:00 a.m.   
  
When I woke up, the sun was just now beginning to peep through a heavy overcast. At least the rain had stopped.  
I felt like I'd been run over by a killdozer. My head was stopped up, my throat burned and I had a filthy cough. Pneumonia on top of everything else..  
  
I was by myself, so I didn't bother getting all dolled up, just threw on my ratty old terrycloth robe with the cigarette burns on the front and staggered into the kitchen to make a couple of dozen cups of coffee.  
  
I was still puzzling out the coffee scoop, when I heard the air sizzle. That was a sound I knew well. I twisted around in a rush and stopped short.  
  
Certainly not. A high fluting voice answered, I am not Anyanka the Avenger.   
A zaftig brunette with a demonic gleam in her eye stood by the icebox tapping her foot impatiently.  
I bring you a message from D'Hoffryn. If you wish to see the vampire, Spike, before his dissolution you must be in Arashmahar before sundown. Please pass this on to the appropriate person. Farewell. She raised her hands in a graceful balletic arc.  
  
Wait! Where's Anyanka?  
  
She rolled her eyes and tossed her long dark curls, She's considering a change in employment for the next millennia.  
  
Please, Miss...  
  
Call me Hallie.  
  
Hallie, please tell her...tell her  
  
she snapped, impatient to go. C'mon, times a'wasting, smart guy.  
Tell her to come home.  
  
She sneered and raised a contemptuous eyebrow, That's original.  
And tell her I....  
  
She disappeared, leaving nothing but a black greasy ring on my not-so-clean linoleum.  
  
No matter how miserable I felt, I needed to get to the Slayer and fast.   
  
tbc  
  
Music: Leon Russell, Stormy Weather 


	18. Crawford Street

Chapter Eighteen --Crawford Street  
Thursday, 12:00 noon  
  
I hadn't been to the Giles' house before, but I knew where it was. Very palatial digs over on Crawford Street with a nice bit of acreage to go with it. Buffy was in a sunny walled garden, trailing her hands through the chilly water that cascaded over arfully arranged rocks.   
Buffy, this Aeternus stuff Warren was making...could you decipher any of the notes?  
  
Dawn helped me work on them some last night and this morning, she whispered vaguely. Your friend Dr. Meers was working in Paris and got lucky. He deciphered Caglistro's secret manuscript and located the hiding place of Locuta's Bane. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she seemed despondent.  
  
What about this poison?  
  
It's not supposed to be a poison. It's what alchemists from the Egyptians on to the present day have always searched for. Eternal Youth. She got up and wandered over to stare into the distant trees lining the edge of the property. That's a laugh, isn't it? Long life, beauty and oh yeah, a wicked cool high.  
  
Then why...?  
  
In the wrong dose, or with the wrong base, it becomes a deadly poison. Your blood stops coagulating and you just bleed out. Pretty, huh?  
  
Yeah, we've both seen it happen. I thought about it for a minute,It shouldn't effect Spike. He's not human.  
  
It always about the blood, isn't it? Vampires are part human. It kills them, just not as fast. But just as dead.  
  
I didn't want to drop the bombshell, but I had to. There wasn't any soft way to to do it.  
D'Hoffryn sent a message to you. Spike's still alive, but we've just got until sundown to find an antidote or it'll be too late.  
  
There's not any antidote. Warren's notes were clear on that point.  
  
He kept on about the Grail, though. There has to be a reason for that.  
  
A spark of hope lit her eyes for a second. What if it could work a reverse mojo on this Aeternus. Harmony seemed pretty insistent that they needed it for some reason.  
  
It's worth a try. But Warren's dead. No more of the potion.  
Harmony. I'm betting she's got some stashed somewhere. She was trying to synthesize it. Probably make a fortune through the pharmaceutical rights   
The Slayer had a big grin now. She was ready for battle. I guessed I'd saddle up for the ride. Maybe I'd get a chance to make a little chin music with Officer Finn.  


* * *

Thursday Noon  
  
I could have driven the curves to Harm's Way blindfolded. We dodged the main entrance and opted for a stealthy approach through the vineyards. We passed down the aisles of ripening fruit and I noticed a sickly sweet smell. We rounded a corner and came up on a ghastly sight. Three decomposing bodies, dressed in workmen's clothes. More of Warren's zombies, truly dead, now that their master was gone. We make a wide circuit to avoid them and continued toward the back of the rancho. It seemed deserted.  
  
Harmony was stretched out in a lounge out by the pool. She was glowing: her long suntanned legs gleamed with oil, the rest of her barely covered with a black bikini.  
  
Buffy didn't hesitate for a second. She grabbed Harmony by the throat and pressed a long wicked knife to her right eye.  
Where is it? The elixir. And don't bother to lie. Buffy snarled, I wouldn't mind giving you a real reason to get plastic surgery.  
Harmony looked ready to get hysterical.   
The blade dug into the pink skin under her dark glasses. I...I only have enough for one... I mean.. Oh! Harmony looked up into the adamantine glare of the Slayer and saw no mercy and very little humanity. Please... I'll give it to you. Just don't cut me!  
  
I should have been paying attention, I guess, but I was too caught up in the spectacle. Riley Finn got the drop on me. I saw the bottom of the pool heading my way. I just hoped I wouldn't pass out again. That was getting old fast.  
  
When I bobbed to the surface, I saw the Slayer over near the pool ladder. Lieutenant Finn was holding a familiar gun on the both of us. Harmony had a satisfied grin on her face.  
Finn curled his lip. Hello again, Mrs. Giles, he said, You just have to keep sticking your nose in, don't you?  
Big man with your shiny gun, aren't you?  
  
Oh, you're a hot little kitten, He laughed.   
I decided I'd work on dear Harmony for a while.  
  
It's all been a set-up from the beginning, hasn't it? Warren made the zombies for your father, for the vineyards. Then what? LeBonte found out and tried the blackmail angle?  
  
Harmony giggled girlishly. You're so wrong. Really. I was married to Devon but he wouldn't divorce me, she shrugged,So.... Poor Devon, he was so sweet.  
  
And Larry? What was he?  
  
She smiled, An experiment. Warren kept him around for a while to test the dosage. Poor old Warren. I met him in Paris, y'know. I just love Paris.  
  
Buffy looked like she wanted to strangle the spoiled heiress on the spot. Why Spike? What was the point of setting him up?  
  
Warren was jingle-brained. Finn spoke up, It was a happy accident, really. I sent him after you. To teach you a little lesson. But you know, I think I'd rather do that myself.  
  
Buffy looked at him, I should have killed you last night when I had the chance.  
  
He went as red as a boiled lobster and swung a hard fist at the Slayer. She kicked his ass again. Harmony just stood there watching with her mouth open. Buffy had Finn on the concrete in minutes, then looked impatiently at me.  
  
I'm tired of being your patsy, Miss Kendall. I grabbed my former client and twisted her arm behind her back until she sqeaked. Where's the elixir? Now.   
  
She gave me a sulky look, but flipped up the lid of her gold cigarette case to show me four glass vials. One of them was full of a sparkling green solution. She handed me the case with ill grace. Go ahead. Take it. It won't do you any good. Then she got real sly and started whispering in my ear. Or you and I could take it to Daddy. Think about the money.... We'd make a good team, Xander....  
  
You dumb broad! Finn bellowed,We need that stuff! Buffy cold-cocked him and he folded. I gave Harmony a pat on the cheek and turned to follow Buffy.  
Sorry, sister. You're too rich for my blood.  
  
Let's go, I told the Slayer as we ran for the car.   
  
tbc  
Music: Jimmy Witherspoon, Trouble in Mind (live) w/Jerry Mulligan & Ben Webster


	19. Arashmahar

Chapter Nineteen---Arashmahar  
  
Thursday 2:00 p.m.  
  
We had a good start on Finn. Besides, he'd have his hands full with Harmony whenever he woke up . We drove toward town silently.  
  
How do we reach Arashmahar? It's not like they have I said, I've tried to reach Anyanka for weeks.  
  
I know a way, Buffy said grimly. We kept driving toward the Stake to retrieve Locuta's Bane from wherever she'd stashed it.  
  
The club was deserted at this time of day. We traveled the empty halls undisturbed. Nobody'd had time to replace the security force that'd been dusted. My God, was it only a day ago?   
The office door was standing open just like we'd left it . There was a black stain in the carpet that wasn't ever going to go away. Buffy stepped over the stain and put on a pair of black leather gloves. She fumbled with a big painting of a snowy landscape left hanging on the wall and began tapping several places on the frame in a rhythmic pattern. Then, she put her hands into the middle of the painted scene. Both hands disappeared up to the elbow into the painted drifts, but when she pulled them back out, she was holding a rag-wrapped parcel dripping with ice and snow. Locuta's Bane...the unholy Grail. She sat it down on the desktop and smiled at my dumbfounded look.  
  
Dawn made it for me. She calls it a sort of fold in space-time.  
  
  
She's the Key, remember? Along with everything else, she evidently picked up a bit of extracurricular physics from her friend, Tara.  
  
Oh. Yeah. I remembered the goddess, all right.  
  
Now, all we need is Anyanka.  
The Slayer opened a drawer that was hanging open loosely and pulled out a squatty grey-brown candle with a repulsive odor. Eau de Slug, no doubt. She set it in a black iron candleholder and I fired up my lighter. It smelled worse burning.  
  
she said, holding my hands around the candle. I tried to think about Anyanka, but nothing happened. Buffy looked fierce. We sat for a long time, staring into the candle as it burnt down and the shadows lengthened. The candle flickered and died.  
  
Well, I guess that's that, she said resignedly. I just wish...  
  
Finally! I mean, Yes? You made a wish?  
  
  
  
She looked at Buffy in anticipation. I hope this works. It's all we've got. Anyanka, I wish we were all in Arashmahar.  
Anyanka smiled. Wish granted.  


* * *

  
I don''t know what I expected a demon dimension to look like. Dank dungeons and gray skies dreary with vultures and smelling like, well, slug candles.  
  
Arashmahar was quite lovely, really, in an odd sort of way. The sky was a brilliant neon green with a barely visible band of pinkish satellites that made a thin ring in the sky. The red suns were nearly down. We were standing in a garden surrounded by slim black marble columns. It opened into a grand Roman atrium centered by a sunken pool full of deep scarlet water. Torches were set in brackets around the lushly green room, illuminating the pale, naked figure floating in a bubbling pool. Buffy didn't make a move, just looked toward Anyanka.  
  
A deep voice penetrated the gloomy group. He's as alive as is possible for his kind, D'Hoffryn said, but only for a short while. A tall, horned demon in long robes stood in the garden flanked by a covey of henchdemons.  
  
Buffy seemed to gather strength from a source hidden deep within. She took a deep breath and handed Anyanka the cup and the poison. Anyanka's eyes were wide, and she nodded. I turned my face deliberately away from the Damned Thing. I still craved it like a junkie with his dope. Anyanka poured the poison into the chalice, but there was no immediate change. She looked at the Slayer.  
  
I said, It's always about the blood. Somebody told me that once. Anyanka nodded agreement.  
Before I could react, a silver blade glittered in the torch light and the Slayer's blood spilled into the chalice.  
  
At first, I saw nothing but the sickening lurch of poison swirling with human blood. Then a ghastly radiance as the liquid glowed first white, then silver. Glittering, lustrous silky light. I smiled for the first time in days.  
  
Mrs. Giles pulled Spike up out of the roiling fluid and held him upright. She held his bloody head in her lap and brushed his sodden curls. I saw her lips move silently and she kissed him delicately. Anyanka poured the potion down his throat in a trickle. For long moments, there was nothing, then as before, a sudden clear pulse of energy and light. His body seemed to be almost bursting with light, blasting from his pores. His eyes opened wide and his mouth became a silent scream She leant her forehead down and touched it to his, whispering ceaselessly. The light disappeared and an empty silence descended. 

* * *

  
  
Spike's eyes fluttered open and he looked around the assembled group. He smiled at us a bit blankly, almost sweetly. Buffy smiled down at him in relief.  
  
D'Hoffryn stepped to the Slayer and smiled pleasantly, Mrs. Giles. How is our business venture prospering?  
  
Well, sir. Better every day. That is if my business associates can stay out of trouble. She stroked Spike's drying hair softly. If I may, I'd like to make you a gift for all your help.  
  
She handed him Locuta's Bane. I've never seen anything like it. D'Hoffryn looked positively ecstatic, practically hopping up and down in glee. He mumbled a hasty Thank you, gathered up his minions and departed with his prize.  
  
Anya appeared a bit sulky at being ignored by her boss, but gave me a sunny smile. I suppose you'll all be wanting to go home now? We nodded. As pleasant as Arashmahar was, we did have a job to do.  
  
Spike, you ready to go home? I asked.  
  
He gave me a considering look and narrowed his eyes.Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.  
  
Odd. He didn't seem quite like himself. I guess a near-death undead experience will do that to you.  
  


* * *

  
We materialized in the middle of the Slayer's office nose to nose with my favorite flatfoot.  
I'm getting sick and tired of looking down the barrel of your gun, Lieutenant, I told him.  
  
I believe you pack of thieves have something that belongs to my fiancee'  
  
How long do you think that's going to last, Finn? Girl's got the attention span of a gnat and about as much brain power. Finn got that crazy look in his eye.   
  
Goddamnit Harris, shut up and give me the Aeternus, Finn snarled.  
  
Not gonna happen, I said. We used it.' Finn was flabbergasted.  
  
Used it?  
  
Spike stepped between us and flexed his long fingers into a fist. See, Mr. Finn, I find being very nearly dead opens up a world of differences for a fella. Things are gonna be a bit different around here. Spike's fist connected with a satisfying thump.  
  
He didn't pull his punch at all and Finn skidded across the room into the corner. Spike was quite pleased with himself, but the I frowned. Damn, I wanted to be the one to do that.  
  
Show off. I said. He grinned unrepentantly, his blue eyes blazing with gold.  
  
Don't get too full of yourself. I can still take you, Buffy smiled at last.  
  
tbc  
  
Music: Dead Can Dance, The Host of Seraphim


	20. Once in a While

Epilogue --- Once in a While  
  
Sunday 11:00 p.m.  
The bar was open for me to help myself. The club wasn't open for customers as yet. It was quiet, just a few employees milling around. Somebody was banging around on the piano up onstage. Still no new guys for the security team. The Stake was wrapped in plastic for the most part. I wondered if Buffy was going to be able to open Tuesday night on time.  
It had been a long couple of days since I'd seen the Slayer or her vampire. I couldn't forget that funny look he'd given me. Like he was missing something. Maybe it was like he said--a near-death experience, but I had to wonder.  
  
I wanted another look at the rest of those notes of Dr. Meers sometime before somebody else figured they were there. He'd been a smart guy, discovered the secret of eternal life, but it didn't get him anything except shot in the back. All the same, that knowledge could still be damned dangerous. Maybe I'd take another a gander in that shithole bungalow out by the cliffs tomorrow.  
  
Harmony Kendall had left the country along with Daddy Dearest. Without her . The candidate for District Attorney was interested in rooting out corruption in the department and if he won the election, there was going to be hell to pay. Lt. Finn was laying low for now, but I expected we hadn't heard the last of him. I figured he had his hands full covering up the whole zombie debacle.  
  
The bourbon was making a nice toasty spot in my gut and I lit up my last cigarette and got ready to go home to my empty apartment. Maybe I'd have another drink.  
I swiveled around on the creamy leather barstool and looked up into a face I hadn't expected to see again.  
Got a light, Xander?  
  
We meet again. I fumbled my lighter out. I concentrated on keeping my hands from shaking. What was it about her that made me such a boob?  
  
It happens sometimes.  
  
I looked into her beautiful , treacherous eyes. Anyanka, why are you here?  
  
She took my lighter and made the flames dance while she lit up. Would you believe me if I said I missed you terribly?  
  
  
  
She laughed a long, low sexy chuckle Hallie was wrong about you. She didn't clarify that remark, but continued,D'Hoffryn sent me.  
  
I was less interested,Just visiting then.  
  
No. I'm staying. D'Hoffryn has part interest in this club now. I'm here to keep an eye on the investment. Boggled the mind, that did. Demons investing.  
  
  
  
So, I told you I loved show business. I'm the opening night act.  
  
My head told me to tell her to shove off, save the pain. I guess I wasn't ever that smart. Even after all this time, even after everything... she still knocked me out. I wrapped her up in my arms and my last cigarette fell to the floor.  
  
  
The End  
Music: Leon Russell, Once in a While  
  
  
AN: Big thanks to all who stayed throughout this long strange journey, esp. all the marvelous Review Crew. You're the greatest. So Long and Thanks for All the Fish.  
  
Coming Attractions: A dark shadow has fallen over Demontown as a frightening killer stalks the streets. Xander investigates and is trapped in a Web of Deceit


End file.
